


Boyfriends in the 90’s

by Worldsgreatestnerd



Series: Murder house...but make it gay. [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Blood Play, Constance being homophobic, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-death Tate, graphic depictions of self harm, hoo boy, i promise it’s not as dark as it seems, maybe???, some wild shit, whos canon???? Don’t know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worldsgreatestnerd/pseuds/Worldsgreatestnerd
Summary: Victor took his initial drag, Tate had put the lighter away, but still they sat, staring at one another. His eyes were unflinchingly dark, daring you, questioning if you had what it took to stare longer, challenging your own darkness.Most people didn’t like looking at Tate’s eyes. Victor couldn’t stop





	Boyfriends in the 90’s

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU JAE FOR EDITING THIS AND HELPING ME COME UP WITH ALL OF THESE IDEAS.

Music wafted around the room, loud enough to drown out everything outside the room and cloak the noises inside. 

On Tate’s bed he and Victor sat opposite each other, Tate stuffing the dime bags of coke into his childhood lunch box. 

Victor wiped the excess coke off his sketchbook,   
wobbling it to enjoy the sound. He flipped through it, mindlessly humming. 

“Pearl Jam is shit and you know it.” Tate said, just wanting to make conversation. The bastard just liked to see him upset. 

Victor rolled his eyes, grabbing the razor off the bed, cleaning it on his Pearl Jam shirt, not wanting to get into this again. 

“You’re a pretentious little shit when it comes to music.” Victor huffed “You do know that Nirvana isn’t the only band.” 

Tate let out an over exaggerated sigh, snatching the razor out from his hands. 

“But it is the best band.” Tate said, eyebrows raised, waiting for disagreement. 

Victor grabbed him by the jaw, pulling him into a kiss, anything to shut him up. 

God, coke really did make everything better, especially Tate. The touch felt like lightning on his skin, his bleach blonde hair felt like spun gold between Victor’s callused fingers. 

Victor pulled back, hands still holding his face. He ran his thumb over his plush lips, humming in content. 

“I’m only gonna agree with you because you’re cute.” Victor said pushing Tate away. 

“Because I’m right.” Tate said, his eyes glimmering. “Did I ever tell you that you smell like old tires?” 

“Fuck off!” Victor laughed, shoving him over. 

The two pushed and shoved each other, giddy and laughing, reaching the peak of their high. Tate wrangled him as they wrestled, catching his arms. 

Tate thumbed over his scars and fresh cuts . His eyebrows drawn tight in concern, all of the joy dropping from his face. 

“Jesus, you can’t cut upwards, Vic.” Tate said shaking his head, tracing the thin lines. 

Victor grabbed the razor back from Tate. Quickly slicing shallow cuts back and forth on his forearm, then a quick slice towards him. He knew Tate only asking out of concern, he knew it, but still he felt like being indignant. 

Tate’s eyes grew wide in shock, immediately clutching his arm. 

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” Tate stammered, he pressed down on the bleeding cuts. 

“They’re not deep, calm down.” Victor dismissed. “Up and down for results, side to side for attention. Sometimes, it’s easier to cut and forget than deal with emotions. I can just cut and get it other with.” 

Tate stared at him, dismay about him. He ran his hand up farther his sleeve, more scars littering his arms the higher he went. Victor pulled from his grasp. 

Tate held up his bleeding arm once more examining it, considering it. 

“What’re you doing?” Victor asked as Tate ran his thumb through his blood. 

Carefully, damn nearly lovingly, Tate brought Victor’s wrist to his mouth, lapping up the blood. 

“What the fuck?” He said, not yet pulling his arm away, just letting him continue his licking. 

Victor couldn’t help but stare, unable to move, just frozen, Tate always had that effect on him. Even as he pulled away, blood smeared on his too pretty lips, Victor stayed a statue. 

“You wanted attention, affirmation. Let me give you it.” Tate murmured, pulling his wrist once more to his mouth. “If you’re gonna hurt, let me ease it.” He continued, he accentuated each word with a kiss to bloodied skin. 

“Like pleasure and pain?” Victor whispered, eyes blown wide as he watched Tate drag his tongue over a cut just beginning to clot. 

“Exactly. Think about it, every time you get that urge to just dig into yourself, you can just think of me,” he paused to press a kiss to another smaller cut “this.” 

Victor tensed as his lips smoothed over his pulse, he knew dinner would be ready soon, but Christ on a Bike if Tate was making it hard for him not to just ride Tate until he couldn’t sit right for a week. 

Sure they hadn’t gotten that far yet, it was just the way Tate touched him that made him want crawl up the wall. 

Both boys jolted away from each other as they heard the door open, Tate wiping the blood away from his mouth as Victor quickly sleeved his bloodied arm. 

Hurriedly Mrs. Langdon stepped inside, all faux megeriness and saccharine smiles. Victor felt Tate bristle at the forever unwanted presence of his mother. 

“Dinner is ready, boys.” She said, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, “I’m sorry to intrude but I don’t like to holler up the stairs, unladylike is what that is.” 

“All good, Mrs. L.” Victor assured, trying not to turn bright red as Tate’s hand slid up his thigh, just out of Constance’s sight. 

“We got it, we’ll come down in a second. Bye! Thank you! Got the memo!” Tate dismissed, much to Mrs. Langdon’s thinly veiled dismay. 

Tate’s hand smoothed up and down his inner thigh, nails scraping across the jeans that were suddenly too tight. 

Victor was always good as reading people, picking up on things most wouldn’t. For instance he noticed how Constance’s lips pursed, hand poised at her side, fighting the urge to slap him. He would do anything not to pay attention to the hand trailing his thigh, or else he’d have an aneurysm right there. 

With a nod she left, forced smile upon her lips, thankfully closing the door behind her. The boys sighed in relief as she went. 

They knew they were toeing a dangerous line, everything was a chance, but between the two, the risk only made their pulse pound. 

Victor held his breath as he heard her heels click-clack away. 

“You think she saw us?” Victor whispered, his own hand wrapping around Tate’s. 

“Nope, I’d be getting the shit beat outta me right now if she did.” Tate said with a shrug. 

The idea of that cut Victor to his core, to know no matter which house they were in, it was dangerous. Only difference at the end of the day was Tate’s had hot meals, clean from bottom to top and you wouldn't get shot. 

“What if she did...what if she doesn’t want to see it. We’re not that careful anymore. Like maybe she just covets you so much she can’t imagine you being with me.” Victor said, his hand rubbing over Tate’s jawline. 

Tate smiled at him, wild and impish, that fucking smile that Victor couldn’t say no to. 

“If she did, I hope it tortures her forever. I want that old bitch to know that I dream about being in between your legs.” Tate said, leaning forward to press a kiss at his jugular. 

Victor couldn’t help by huff out a laugh, anything to distract away from his flushed face. 

“You’ve got serious Mommy issues.” Victor laughed, breathy as Tate dragged his kisses down his jaw. 

“And you’ve got Daddy issues, we work out.” Tate said, grinning up at him once more. 

Victor closed the gap between them, their teeth almost clacking as they kissed. 

Tate was a bastard. A wide grinning, no good, dead behind the the eyes, heart of gold, bastard. A bastard that Victor couldn’t stop kissing. 

Dinner was ready, they could smell it wafting but all Victor could really care about was how Tate kissed him. They usually were pretty good about timing the end of their high with dinner, it made coming down easier. 

Tate held him steady with one hand securely in his curly hair, the other wrapped around his throat. Tate lead the kiss, Victor was all too happy to follow. 

Victor felt himself melt into Tate, the world fading away from anything that wasn’t Tate. 

Without warning the door swung open, Adelaide padding in. Her eyes stared emptily at Victor and Tate as they pulled apart. Victor’s heart pounded against his ribs, they were caught. 

Fuck fuck FUCK!

“Mom says it’s time for dinner.” Adelaide said “she’s upset you guys haven’t come down.” 

“We’re coming, Addie. We’ll go with you.” Tate said shuffling off his bed, grazing past Victor’s cheek as he pulled his hand out of his hair. 

Victor smiled awkwardly, trailing behind Tate like a lost child. Only slightly letting out a sigh of relief. 

Dinner time was full of mixed emotions for Victor. On one hand, he got a free homemade meal, nothing expired, no roaches or anything . On the other hand, it meant having to spend at least an half hour with Constance Langdon. 

Victor sat next to Tate, trying his best to avoid any and all eye contact with Mrs. Langdon. The chatter was mild, Larry and Constance chit chatting idly, nothing out of the ordinary, Victor found himself thanking the heavens Adelaide didn’t think anything of walking in on him and Tate. 

Constance offered her cigarettes to Larry, who politely refused. 

“May I have one?” Victor asked, staring at her cigarette tin. 

Constance shook her head as she lit her own cigarette, taking a deep inhale then sighing out her smoke. 

“I’m not running a charity, Victor. I can’t share anything. Besides a young boy like you shouldn’t have vices like this.” She said shaking her head, stashing her tin to her side. 

Tate openly rolled his eyes at his mother, getting up from the table, disappearing down the hall, only to return with his pack of cigarettes fished from Victor’s jacket. 

“Thank you.” He said packing his cigarettes against his hand, fishing one out. 

He stuck the cigarette between his teeth, flicking his lighter uselessly trying to get a light out of the dying zippo. 

Almost as if on cue, Tate produced a lighter of his own, cheap and flimsy but it would do. Victor reached for it but Tate shook his head. 

“I got it.” He said flicking the flame to light. 

Victor leaned close, much closer than necessary. He couldn’t help but stare into Tate’s black, lifeless eyes, so deep and empty you could barely tell someone was staring back at you. 

Victor took his initial drag, Tate had put the lighter away, but still they sat, staring at one another. His eyes were unflinchingly dark, daring you, questioning if you had what it took to stare longer, challenging your own darkness. 

Most people didn’t like looking at Tate’s eyes. Victor couldn’t stop. 

“So how was school this week, boys?” Constance interrupted. 

The two broke their stare and went back to their food. 

The question mostly directed to Tate. The woman was always trying to connect with the emotional equivalent of a piece of driftwood. 

“The usual, Hell. Fucking sucked.” He muttered, eyes not even listing away from his plate. 

“Language!” Constance snapped, slamming her fist onto the table, shaking the plates and dulling the boys high. 

Adelaide giggled at the conflict, shuffling down into her seat as Constance scowled at her. 

The silence stung like a slap, everyone too afraid to speak. Victor reached for Tate’s hand under the table. 

“Tate, when are you going to get a pretty girlfriend? I want to play with her makeup and we can be pretty together.” Adelaide chimed, breaking the harsh silence. 

Tate’s eyes flashed quickly with anger but quelled over the prospect of Adelaide asking it, not his mother. 

“You’re right Addie, when is Tate going to get a girlfriend. Any girls that peaked your interest? I know you’ve got to have someone, it’s healthy for a boy to have a girlfriend.” Constance said. 

Victor tensed, trying to eat his food faster because this was leading to a conversation he definitely did not want to have. 

Tate looked at her as if he was looking down the barrel of a gun. 

“Actually, yeah.” Tate said. 

The whole table stopped, all looking at Tate in confusion. Why now would he be candid? Victor was dating the guy and he was about as transparent as a brick wall. Also, what the fuck? Did Tate have a crush? 

“That’s good, Tate! Very good!” Constance said, eyes lighting up as she thought she was connecting with her son. “What’s she like? Better not be a poor girl, can’t have my son running around with that, gotta keep up the family image. Present company excluded, Victor. I do know your family falls into that…category.” 

Victor didn’t know to laugh or be appalled. To himself he had the comfort and amusement of knowing that her son just had his tongue down his throat under an hour ago. 

“Her name is Victoria.” Tate said beginning to eat again. 

“What a lovely name! Have you talked to her yet?” Constance persisted. 

Victor was gonna put a fork in his leg. Why was he acting like this? He did get pretty bitchy when he came down but this was a new low. 

“Yeah. I think she’s pretty cute, she’s got these green eyes that understand me more than I understand myself.” Tate said with a shrug. He passed a quick glance and smile to Victor. 

Who the fuck cared about green eyes? Victor had green eyes. He glared back at him. 

“Is she pretty?” Adelaide asked. 

Victor didn’t care, he didn’t care about anything this girl had to offer. 

“Prettiest girl around.” Tate assured. “She’s probably into some weird shit, I can sense it.” 

Both Victor and Constance sighed in annoyance, for the first time both in agreement. It only took Tate bragging about some dumb chick to make it happen. 

“Inappropriate.” Constance said sharply, but Tate only grinned back. 

“Will she ever come over?” Adelaide asked, oblivious to the tension rising within the room. 

The whole table fell quiet as they looked to Tate. Victor barely had it in him. The conversation was hanging by a thread. Either Constance was going to beat Tate or Victor was. 

“Not with this fucking family.” Tate grumbled. 

Constance had clearly reached her boiling point, slamming her hands down onto the table.

“That’s it! Dinner is over! You three get out. I don’t want to see any of you for the rest of the night.” She said, throwing her cable cloth. 

Tate sat back, his smile wide and proud, taking one last bite of his dinner before quickly trotting away into the kitchen with his plate. 

Victor didn’t want to be with him but he also didn’t feel like getting a plate thrown at his head, so he followed suit. 

They left their plates by the sink, Tate still grinning. 

“C’mon let's go outside.” Tate said. 

He rolled his eyes but still followed him outside. 

The air was getting colder, Halloween was getting close. He generally liked Halloween, but lately he hadn’t liked much of anything. Currently, he definitely didn’t like Tate. 

They sat side by side on the back porch, perched upon the brick walls. 

“You want a smoke?” Tate asked, breaking the silence between them. 

“Yeah.” He muttered. 

The moonlight hued his bleach blonde hair almost blue, cast over his features, making his eyes deep set in shadow, almost like they weren’t there. 

Tate smacked two cigarettes out of the box, Victor watched in silence. He gave him his, then offering the lighter out wordlessly. 

“I’ll light it myself.” Victor said, taking the lighter from the dejected Tate’s hands. 

After lighting his own cigarette he threw the lighter back into his lap. 

“Hey, look. I’m sorry for my mom, God knows I hate her. I hate the way she treats you.” He said, his sincerity almost touching enough for Victor to listen. 

“It’s fine.” He dismissed. 

“It’s not, really. I know dinner sucked. I’m sorry.” He continued, putting his hand on his thigh in a moment of tenderness. 

He stared at the hand before going back to his silence. 

“Listen, I’m trying to be honest here. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tate said, pulling his hand back. 

He whipped his head around to him. Eyes red with tears of frustration. 

“The fuck is wrong with me?!” He yelled throwing his hands in the air “Me?! You’re the one bragging about girls to your mom and shit. In front of me! Like I’m not even there! I...I guess I thought we were a real couple.” 

Silence washed over them. He heaved as he tried to read his blank expression. 

Then, fucking then. The bastard starting laughing. Laughing like a goddamn maniac! 

Victor threw his cigarette at him, Tate only dodged and laughed some more. 

“It’s not funny!” He snapped. 

“Oh but it definitely is. I was talking about you, dumbass! I threw an ‘ia’ at the end of your name and neither you or Constance noticed!” Tate said between laughs. 

Victor threw his head in his hands, sighing in embarrassment. He took a deep breath and yelled wordlessly into his hands. 

“I’m an idiot!” He mumbled into his hands, tears of frustration, being worked up and embarrassed streamed down. 

He sniffed weakly, trying to clean himself up. He hated crying, he didn’t cry in front of Tate and he wasn’t about to start. 

“You cry when you get angry?” Tate whispered, hand smoothing up and down his back. 

Victor looked up at him. All shadows were gone from his face, the porch light had finally warmed and brightened, displaying his impish features now softened with concern. 

“Yeah, sorry. I can’t help it. I cry when I get upset too.” He said waving his hand in dismissal. “It makes people uncomfortable, I try not to get emotional ‘cause of it. Just- ugh.” 

Tate chuckled, taking hold of his face. 

“Nah, you can’t help it. Plus, you’re cute, all red ‘n stuff.” He comforted, small smile turning up at the corners of his mouth. 

The moment was untouchable. They were caught in one another’s gaze again, just contently staring at one another. 

It was just them. Tate’s dark eyes warmed, the darkness still daring to swallow Victor whole, like a viper slowly curling around its prey. 

“I’m sorry.” Tate whispered, breaking the silence. 

Tate kissed him, slowly, tenderly, like warm liquor sitting happily in Victor’s stomach. 

Tate pulled back quickly. They both knew it was risky to kiss like that out there. 

“Bedroom?” Tate whispered putting out his cigarette on the brick. 

“Hell yeah.” He said. 

Carefully they made their way back into the house, avoiding Constance at all cost, who was emptying a bottle of wine by the looks of it as they passed the dining room. Good, if she was drunk she wouldn’t hear them. 

They crept up the stairs, Victors hand in Tate’s as he followed behind. 

Once securely inside Tate grabbed his waist. He melted into his touch, grinning happily as they kissed. 

They shuffled around the room awkwardly as they kissed, his hands only leaving his waist to turn the stereo on. He really didn’t care about what cassette it was playing as it rattled out songs idly, he only cared about his touch. 

By some luck they stumbled to the bed, too busy with each other to stop and think about how much easier it’d be to just walk there. 

Victor sighed happily into him, hands tangling in the base of his curly blonde hair. He tugged lightly as he kissed down his jaw, settling in the crook of his neck. 

He couldn’t help the yelp that escaped him as he bit down, surely leaving a mark, the little bastard was possessive. His hands slid over the edge of his stomach, callouses perhaps not picking up on all the scars tattered there. 

“Can I take this off?” Tate whispered against his jaw, tugging the hem of his shirt. 

Victor nodded, leaning back enough to pull his shirt off. He trusted him, he knew it wouldn’t freak him out. 

Tate’s eyes grew wide, his face unreadable beyond that. Victor felt his heart drop, was he that disgusting? 

Tate ran a hand across his thin frame, feeling every scar that completely covered his torso. First with one hand, then with both, tracing over the larger scars that stretched across his ribs. 

The silence was thick, Victor could hear his heart beating as Tate studied him, warm hands casually passing over long neglected scars. 

“I should put my shirt back on, it’s really gross-“ Victor stammered, his hand reaching for his shirt caught by Tate. 

He shook his head, eyes not leaving his torso. 

“It’s...amazing.” He said, eyes flashing to him briefly only to return to his almost adoration of them. “It’s like a tapestry, y’know? This is years and years, it’s like I can feel what you were feeling in each scar.” 

Victor let out his breath he didn’t know he was holding. He ran his fingers through Tate’s hair as he continued. He ran his hands back and forth over the map of scar tissue, kissing the particularly angry and jagged scars. 

“I’m glad you trusted me with this. It means a lot.” Tate assured, holding his face. “I wanna show you something, is that cool?” 

Victor nodded, confused but willing. 

He smiled, standing up and shuffled to the closet. Victor leaned forward, wondering what he could have. 

The answer made his stomach drop, the blood rushed out of his face as he stared down the barrel of a shotgun. 

His blood ran cold, fear immobilized him, a helpless sitting duck as his very own boyfriend held a shotgun in front of his face, grinning like a child. 

Victor figured he was going to die young, but he guessed it would be an overdose, not a goddamn shotgun aimed by his boyfriend. 

“Here! You can hold this one, I have more.” He said handing the gun to Victor carelessly. 

The statement brought no relief, the guns weren’t for him. No. Tate had no intention of killing him, that was evident. He only wanted approval for him to kill others. 

Victor was going to be sick.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo! Thanks for sticking around. Comments and likes are very welcomed. This series will be continued. 
> 
> Also @ Ryan Murphy, hire me.


End file.
